₦airaland Forum

Where is Uduak na

When I first landed in JSS 1 and my friends asked me if I was still in primary school, I told them that I was in high school. They asked me if I meant secondary school, and I told them yes but that my school was a more classy and fine tuned version of your typical Nigerian school, thus the name HIGH SCHOOL. I always wanted to be American.

I had always been the fictitious kind, and that was why when Senior Thomas Nnongo told me about the headless horse man who came around every year to help JSS 3 students transition into Senior Secondary School (SSS), I panicked in belief. Someone was gonna die this session, I thought to myself.

When Paul came out at Padre Hour in front of the church during testimony time to confess and thank God for delivering him from the "spirit of masturbation," I was vexed. Did that mean I too was possessed? Did the spirit have anything to do with me grabbing my crutch and smooching it with soap every now and then? No, I didn't think so. Twas a personal decision which I enjoyed, I thought to myself.

Then came "Tiko" which had me loosing my fish every time I stepped out of the dining hall. Looking back I wonder why I was such a miser. I could never give you a full biscuit even if I had five in a pack, I'd always break it in tiny bits and distribute.

Mehn High school, sorry secondary school was hard! And if I knew then what I know now, I'd probably make sure I stole peoples biscuits at the school shop or in class from their bags, I mean they were just biscuits after all, not like I was robbing a bank or something. I would have stolen biro's (more often than I did). I mean, I felt guilty for alotta things that I shouldn't have felt guilty for.

They say though that in the end, sin is sin devoid of grades or strata or level or blah blah blah. I'm a christian sha, but kai weighing-in on stealing biscuits and biro's? I find those one's therapeutic for being caged in a 6ft tall fence for three months.

Love was never kind, I practically made love to love letters. These girls were in Airforce Girls and we were in Airforce Boys Military School. I'd get high on the perfume sprayed on the letters and get down low.

So get off your high horse and stop being judgmental, for let he who has never stolen biro or begged(wait, begging is not a sin), be the first to cast the stone.

This might be a work of fiction. I said might, still do not rule out the possibility of it being false though. Lol.

Bye,
Mike Ogah.

O! Aunt Bridget used to be so in love. She had the kind of eyes that could light up a dark inlet. Her flawless yet dark skin left me in awe of such a beautiful creature God had taken his time to create. Aunt Bridget used to be such a beauty. No wonder uncle Friday couldn't resist her flowery charm. For her smile was an antidote to a bruised soul. She was strict and yet had the softest heart any man could hope for.

I hoped she'd meet the perfect guy. One who would cherish her sweet spirit and be willing to cast the clouds from her sky when the days went blue. I remember when HE finally proposed to Aunt Bridget. She was so happy! My other Aunty's carried the bouquet of flowers left at the dinner table and began teaching her how it would feel like walking through the wedding train up to the aisle were their vows would be sync in holy matrimony. That was in the year 1998 in Lagos state. Aunty Bridget was the happiest Bride.

As I sit here going through their wedding pictures, I can't help but painfully reminisce on how beautiful that day was. The bridal train was beautifully colored in orange while the little bride and groom looked cute with their little black and white shoes on(sighs!). That day the heavens gave way to the trumpets that set the two love birds a-sail with a "here comes the bride" anthem. Who would have thought one day I'd sit here writing about 'HOW IT ALL WENT WRONG'.

O! Love, did u have to take something this beautiful and paint it red? For once I had started to believe. I had left my Thomas ways. I WAS A BELIEVER.

I hear uncle Fridays a drunk now and that every night he comes home smelling of alcohol. Some nights he doesn't just go to sleep, but pulls Aunt Bridget's hair from sleep as he beats her black and out. One night he asked his youngest son who is only three to bring a knife from d kitchen while Aunt Bridget struggled to break loose. That night, I heard she ran to a nearby church were she probably wept the night away. As a child I believed this only happened in movies but Little did I know that the Uncle who bought us chocolates as kids would soon become the black arrow in a pawn of white bows.

The story is not over. I'm hoping things would still change but.....you can't hold on to water and even when we love like water, all it does is sip through our finger tips and leaves us with nothing but an ocean of tears.

Aunt Bridget used to be so in love. She had the kind of eyes that could light up a dark inlet. They say the eyes are a window to the soul but When I looked through Aunt Bridget's eyes yesterday all I could see was "Pain". She visited 3weeks back and her eyes were red.

I said "Aunty Bridget, what's wrong? You've been crying abi"

And she said "Aah! Inalegwu its nothing..I think its the water I used this morning to bath, it must have been bad"

And then she smiled politely as my spirit sighed in contempt

In conclusion, this story has no ending. It's one of those daily real life experiences some woman some where else is going through. Maybe because she's been oppressed and suppressed with the inability to speak up. Or maybe she's been told not to leave for the sake of the kids. That's rubbish I must say. You can't make someone love you. You can't make your heart feel something it won't.

Lord! Make me the change I want to see.

(Take a stand against women and child abuse )


Written by Mike Ogah

Have you lost the audacity to hope, to remain ever fervent in dreaming? Maybe you’ve lost faith in God and the word. If you have, I’d love to share a very short story with you about the power of persistence and the ability to smile amidst the very gloomy haze.

I still am like you, striving to attain a goal that sometimes feels far reaching. I read the story of little Joshua whose mother tried to abort him on three occasions, administering three strong abortion tablets on those occasions and still having little Joshua form on the inside of her. On the day of conception, little Joshua was born like every normal child having his fists clinked tightly. The nurse on opening little Joshua’s fists, found three tablets. Hurriedly rushing to show little Joshua’s mum what she had found, Mrs. Joshua burst into tears as baby Josh softly smiled with his eyes closed.

Maybe the lord guided Joshua or just maybe he chose not to give up amidst the odds. This was a short story I read from a blackberry broadcast and it got me thinking- the race has barely begun and we need to buckle up. Where is our faith?

I began on a quest to finding God. I became discontent with what the Bible had to offer.

“There had to be more” I pondered.

I watched the very touching movie titled “In Pursuit of Happiness” starring Will Smith. This was a true life story documenting the life of Chris Gardener and the big dreams he had for both him and his family but nothing ever seemed to come together. After years of living on the streets with his only son and having been evicted from his home while his wife abandoned him and their child, Chris finally made it to pinnacle of his dreams. Today Chris Gardener is one of the most successful entrepreneurs of our time.

Amidst all the “positive talk and people trying to dissect my destiny” kind of stuff, I always wondered though- what is Gods ultimate intention for creating man and why did he create us knowing in the end, some of us would have to go to hell and some heaven. If I hadn’t known better, I would say God was an author who simply delighted in the creation of fascinating characters and whose plot was more of a thriller.

A pastor once said God created us to praise him because he is a God who delights in praises. And this got me like- uhm! He might as well have created the stones to worship him or even the singing birds but why us? I’m told we are the only beings with souls and when we die our spirits depart to the hereafter. I do not dispute that but I thought the minute I became a believer all these thoughts would suddenly seem to make sense.

I understand though that the power of life and death lies in our hands. With that, it becomes subtly clearer to me now. God has given us choices and it is left to us to choose wisely. Still, I sometimes just wish life was a story book, and a fantasy one at that. I wish the clouds were ice cream and the sand pop corn, I wish God were more visible but wait, if God were more visible, a lot of people would probably try to overthrow him even as Satan intended to. And even if Satan never existed, we still would have the military.

In the end, I learnt that magic is- believing in you and knowing that each of us has more hidden inside us than we have had the chance to explore. I honestly can’t tell you still that I possess the answer to all the questions I rambled on about though but what I can tell you is this- Go to your window: can you touch the oxygen? Can you see the oxygen? That’s just like God! You can’t see him, you can’t touch him but you can feel him. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.



Peace,

Mike Ogah

Did it ever occur to you that the world may never end? And maybe all the stories of people seeing revelations about the earth standing still is nothing more of a psychotic twist in their medulla oblongata’s.

I personally feel Nostradamus was spiritually drunk to have predicted the world to end 2012. I mean no disrespect to his intellectual competence. Sure he predicted Adolf Hitler and 9/11. But may we just give room to that little possibility that maybe and just maybe the 16th century seer was on the verge of heartbreak when he conjured that prediction or maybe he was drinking our 20th century guilder(since he could see into the future).

Besides, there is no evidence that Nostradamus has correctly predicted everything he set out to predict and anyway who did he think he was? The world cup’s Paul the octopus?

In 2000 was when I hoped the world would end. I remember grabbing all the chocolates I could find before 12a.m because I didn’t want to be flabbergasted by the daunting surprise that there could likely be no chocolates in heaven or hell as the case may have been but not anymore Amen! Few minutes to 12 , I remember squeaking my eyes open hoping to see a chariot of fire drop from the sky like a sci-fi movie but to my surprise nothing happened and when 12 knocked, I first heard a chorused sigh before a jubilation in the church and just between me and you- I thought since no one disappeared, omoh! Na the Armageddon be that. And just like the passions of the Christ movie, I began screaming in an apostolic tone- FORGIVE THEM FATHER, FOR THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO!

Some leading scientists have said that in 2012, an invisible planet called NIBIRRU would collide with our earth and that’s when the world would end. Seriously? Later they’d say there is no God and still they come up with these Casper the friendly ghost stories??

Anyway, here’s my own prediction about how the world would end:

There is going to be a huge battle between two renowned leaders. Guess who? Olusegun Obasanction and IBBeez.

These two strong warriors are going to battle it out with their metallic pot bellies. The first stomach to burst would cause a titanic explosion that would lead to a massive hurricane. From within the losers belly shall fly corruption tornados and I slept with my daughter- in- law hurricane Katrina’s.

All of a sudden the winner shall transform into a 10 eyed beastly skunk and shall finally release a destructive robust air packed ball of pollute that shall send the entire human race into oblivion.

THE END.

(CD SCREECHING) Now how’s that for a summary of our extinction. Truth is we may be able to predict the weather, prophetically declare and even dream into reality our tomorrow but let’s let the butterfly out of its chrysalis as we brush ourselves with reality- NO ONE KNOWS WHEN THE WORLD GO KPAFUKA!

Peace,
Mike.

When things aren't going so well, and you're happy in that sweet pain; Does It feel like the sky is beating against your chest and your smile has taken a rest? If so, that's when best your pen pills its foreskin and sheds its emotions, its when you feel washed in confusion and sometimes frustration that you just want to bleach your existence away with the power of JIK.

Often times the problem exists only in our heads. Because truth is, at some point raging storms have to settle and when they do, we get to see the sun and perhaps even the rainbow. But people like me often scuffle in that choking and "turned down" moment when its easier to naturally scribble down and capture the pure undiluted raw feelings of being heartbroken by love, career, betrayal, abandonment and maybe that girl that promised you 'for richer for poorer' in that 'happily ever after' pick up line (not to say that there aren't good babes out there). So can we then say that "hurt is a muse"?

Because most times, Its in that moment that the rough drumming and thunderous sounds of a soft rock song suddenly resonates and awakens our inner melody. Its that moment when the world makes us crazy and we just want to cry out "laughter"! I think its the colors of life shining through in those moments.

Imagine your entire life flashing before your eyes like the slow motioned preview after the eviction of a contestant from say American idols or Big Brother Africa. Notice the touching memorable soundtracks echo through the screen and how that persons entire time spent on the show is captured- His laughs, his tumbles, her stumbles and her crumbles. Together these special moments make up a perfect story book( if its a big brother story book, you should expect nudity).

So, maybe life wouldn't have been perfect if we were always happy or maybe let's just say we weren't genetically constructed to be happy all the time(c'mon we're not robots or the power rangers). Truth is, life won't always be fair, we'd all have our ups and downs, our turn ups and turn downs, people saying yes to us and others saying No, we'd fail, we'd succeed. But in spite of it all, should we then throw curses at the wind and feel like dying? Should we ask why bad things happens to good people? YES! Its poetically ok and justified to question times when we don't feel happy and ecstatic. That's the beauty of life - Freedom of expression and being alive to express it.

In a nutshell, Life is a story book and we are the characters. So, pick an action figure and feel free to save the world, remember Storm in X men sometimes calmed the storms and at other times she sent it twirling into a big tornado( most especially when the Reptile dude pushed her buttons). Remember Samson had his Deliliah moments and then there was the bringing down of the pillars. Also remember that whenever you feel alone in this world, everyone at some point has been there to. And if we all are alone, then we are together in the experience of being alone. Doesn't really make sense? Yeah I know but I just want you to be happy in knowing, its not you ALONE, its us together, collectively alone in a lawn, popping champagne and saying "YES! We survived, we came, we saw and then we conquered".

Plus, always remember that while your life may seem auto tuned and "not so happening" , even the biggest stars had their demons to chase in their so called "happening lives". Ray Charles battled the sting of cocaine addiction, Whitney was on some highness "palava" and Fela had the sexually transmitted disease to battle. So, E don do, smile jare! Ah ah. O and remember clark kent(superman) also had his cryptonite "ish" going on( just in case you're a fan of the series- smallville).

When things aren't going so well, and you're happy in that sweet pain; Does It feel like the sky is beating against your chest and your smile has taken a rest? If so, that's when best your pen pills its foreskin and sheds its emotions, its when you feel washed in confusion and sometimes frustration that you just want to bleach your existence away with the power of JIK.

Often times the problem exists only in our heads. Because truth is, at some point raging storms have to settle and when they do, we get to see the sun and perhaps even the rainbow. But people like me often scuffle in that choking and "turned down" moment when its easier to naturally scribble down and capture the pure undiluted raw feelings of being heartbroken by love, career, betrayal, abandonment and maybe that girl that promised you 'for richer for poorer' in that 'happily ever after' pick up line (not to say that there aren't good babes out there). So can we then say that "hurt is a muse"?

Because most times, Its in that moment that the rough drumming and thunderous sounds of a soft rock song suddenly resonates and awakens our inner melody. Its that moment when the world makes us crazy and we just want to cry out "laughter"! I think its the colors of life shining through in those moments.

Imagine your entire life flashing before your eyes like the slow motioned preview after the eviction of a contestant from say American idols or Big Brother Africa. Notice the touching memorable soundtracks echo through the screen and how that persons entire time spent on the show is captured- His laughs, his tumbles, her stumbles and her crumbles. Together these special moments make up a perfect story book( if its a big brother story book, you should expect nudity).

So, maybe life wouldn't have been perfect if we were always happy or maybe let's just say we weren't genetically constructed to be happy all the time(c'mon we're not robots or the power rangers). Truth is, life won't always be fair, we'd all have our ups and downs, our turn ups and turn downs, people saying yes to us and others saying No, we'd fail, we'd succeed. But in spite of it all, should we then throw curses at the wind and feel like dying? Should we ask why bad things happens to good people? YES! Its poetically ok and justified to question times when we don't feel happy and ecstatic. That's the beauty of life - Freedom of expression and being alive to express it.

In a nutshell, Life is a story book and we are the characters. So, pick an action figure and feel free to save the world, remember Storm in X men sometimes calmed the storms and at other times she sent it twirling into a big tornado( most especially when the Reptile dude pushed her buttons). Remember Samson had his Deliliah moments and then there was the bringing down of the pillars. Also remember that whenever you feel alone in this world, everyone at some point has been there to. And if we all are alone, then we are together in the experience of being alone. Doesn't really make sense? Yeah I know but I just want you to be happy in knowing, its not you ALONE, its us together, collectively alone in a lawn, popping champagne and saying "YES! We survived, we came, we saw and then we conquered".

Plus, always remember that while your life may seem auto tuned and "not so happening" , even the biggest stars had their demons to chase in their so called "happening lives". Ray Charles battled the sting of cocaine addiction, Whitney was on some highness "palava" and Fela had the sexually transmitted disease to battle. So, E don do, smile jare! Ah ah. O and remember clark kent(superman) also had his cryptonite "ish" going on( just in case you're a fan of the series- smallville).

I dreamed I went to heaven, and u were there with me. We walked upon the streets of gold, beside the crystal sea. We heard the Angels singing, then someone called ur name, We turned and saw dis young man, and he was smiling as he came.

And he said, Friend u may not know me now. Then he said, "But wait.." You used to teach my sunday school when I was only eight. Every week u would say a prayer before the class would start. And one day when u said that prayer, I asked Jesus in my heart.

Thank you for giving to the lord, I am that life that was changed. Thank you for giving to d lord, I am so glad you gave.

"Derick, I would be coming to Lagos this Saturday. When are you going to send me my flight money"? Rasheeda asked with a naughty little girl tone on the phone.

Rasheeda and Derick had been online friends for just two weeks. Derick had sent her a friend request on a popular social networking site two weeks back, to which she accepted, and they had been chatting ever since.


Rasheeda Ogbonafe was a Public Administration graduate from the Oyo state university. Her somewhat shiny caramel skin left her almost unmasked in any gathering amidst fairly light skinned people. She was 26years of age and had an internet Cafe she managed just opposite her former school. She was stubborn but kindhearted, "A beauty meshed in a bowl with good intentions" her project supervisor would later add at the funeral while speaking about what it was like knowing and supervising Rasheeda's project.

That beautiful saturday the sky was grey, the smell of rain swooped through the streets and the breeze blew leathers, biscuit wraps and plastic water bottles away. Rasheeda had packed her clothes and every other thing she was going to need while spending the weekend in Dericks place in Lagos, Her cyber friend had sent her air fair. Rasheeda for the most part of her adult life had always been independent. Often times she would be gone weeks unending without her parents even bothering to ask where or how she was doing. And Rasheeda on the other hand never bothered to inform anyone.

Her mother had grown tired from scolding her movements at night and pleading with her to always bring her friends to the house just so she could know them personally and understand the kind of crowd she was moving with.

"One day monkey go go market and e no go come back" Mrs Ogbonafe, Rasheeda's mum often emphasized every friday night before Rasheeda would go out to party.

"Mummy, I'm a woman now, I can make sensible decisions on my own" Rasheeda would often retort, rolling her eyes like a spinning tennis ball.

At the Oyo State Local Airport, Rasheeda called Derrick. While Dericks' phone rang and the airports security agent scanned Rasheedas bags to weigh them, Rasheeda said to the female ticket agent:

"Its my first time in Lagos, I'm going to meet with my fiancé ," she lied.

"Oh really" the female agent smiled while replying to Rasheeda's youthful and exuberant talk.

"That's great, hope sey hin bride price rish dollars o, because you know sey you fine"!

Rasheeda smiled and later told the agent about how she and Derick met over the internet and later got talking via video calls and as time went by, they fell in love. Abruptly disrupting their conversation, came the boarding announcement -

"BOARDING ANNOUNCEMENT, FLIGHT 9:00am LEAVING FOR LAGOS, PLEASE PROCEED TO BOARDING IMMEDIATELY".

"Derick, I'm on my way already, just got my boarding pass. Wish me safe journey"!

"Safe journey, dear" Derrick replied.

The flight was swift with little turbulence. Rasheeda had finally made it to Lagos and awaited her luggage at the arrivals stand. She glanced about for Derick, surfing through the huge crowd when she saw some men on suits holding placards like sign posts. On those placards were the names of different people.

Finally her luggage had arrived and Rasheeda slanted her luggage tires out and dragged to get a taxi.

Derick had previously said over the phone that he'd send a driver to pick her up, and the moment she saw a tall man all suited up, holding a placard with her full name "Rasheeda Ogbonafe" boldly written on it, she knew that was her ride.

On her way to see Derick, Rasheeda began texting her best friend, Adaora, on the phone that she had landed safely and was on her way to Dericks house.

Rasheeda had never been to Lagos before, on previous talks with Derick, he had told her that he inherited his parents mansion at Lekki and that they were merchants who amassed a lot of wealth during the military regime from contracting to build barracks for the Armed Forces. Derick had told Rasheeda that his Parents were deceased and that they had been killed in a fire outbreak.

The drive through the Lagos traffic, up and down the bridge had left Rasheeda sleepy and exhausted. Her last words to her friend, Adaora, before waking up in a room thatched with black paint splintered all over the walls was -

"I don't know where he's taking me to, but I hope to get there soon".

Rasheeda's body would later be found in a hotel room, days after her arrival in Lagos, in a dismembered state. Her Head would be slashed off with missing limbs. Her body would be given to the states forensic investigators who would uncover a teeth gashing reality-

That she was rapped by not only one man but numerous men from the DNA samples found on her body, that she was stuffed with a bottle up her mouth and pressed down to the floor, And lastly, that she was beaten and tortured numerous times before having her head cut off with a certain axe that would subsequently be traced to have been constructed on the outskirts of Lagos near a certain kalaka filling station.

When Rasheeda died, people said she had a smile that could turn ice blocks to snow flakes, they said every time she would green, the trees would wave their branches because she made their leaves grow greener. Till date, Aunt Lolo still speaks about her thin laughter and how it sounded like a fallen canter that diced a trillion times on the cement floor before finally stopping.

"What a beauty, gone too soon" I later would hear a passer by say, who was walking pass her grave at the burial ceremony.

When we are first born, we are like new candles with a silver thread, by then our lives are fresh like the morning hew and would never have touched the flick of a fire. Our beauty is set on the saucer of mortality, waiting to be lit by the strike of a match stick. And when we finally breathe that first fire, our silver thread slowly but surely begins to deplete.

"The essence of life is to be happy, have a family that loves you and a God you always could look up to. Never put yourself in a position where you have to compromise your peace and stability for a crumb of bread. Bread would always come." My Father has always said.

My father is a military man, his own Father was a sergeant in the army who fought in the civil war. He often tells us about how our village shared borders with Enugu and how as a child he had to run barefooted out of his classroom because of the bombs that fell from the sky during the war on-top their class ceilings. He said -

"This woman you're seeing(referring to his mother) gave up her life just so I could have one".

He further narrates the cringing tale about his own father dying in boots and his mother strapping his little sister to her back while they fled the village for the rocks and bushes in the hope that they would find peace and refuge there.

"I sold pepper, garri and ground nut. Mama would set a tray on my head with so many items and ask me to go sell while she did the same". He says.

"I have traded, farmed and even washed and cleaned the boots of both officers and soldiers. I did it to get the little I could to sustain I,my mother and two kid sisters as a teenager"

Today, my dad is an Army General.

Well, my name is Michael and I am his son. On the contrary, you could say I was born with a coated silver spoon. Growing up I have always wondered why beggars had children. Often times I would wine my window down while Father drove pass certain parts of Lagos just so I could see these women with amputated limbs begging on the streets with babies strapped to their backs.

I always thought to myself-

"Maybe they were raped, maybe they got caught up in a massacre while pregnant or just maybe they wanted to have kids. ".

Or else,

"Why would you bring a child to the world to suffer"?

I used to see these little children and I barely saw them smile. They reminded me of the ants, always grappling for particles of sugar or biscuit to hoard for the rainy days, the only difference between them and the ants was- they were human.

I tried picturing what a day felt like in the lives of these kids aged 2,3,4,5 and more. The horror that plagued my overly zealous and creative mind was beyond words. The flaming sun blazing its rays on their fragile brains, the toxic fumes from motor vehicles, ritualists, rain, the noise, germs and so many other things that are as well traumatic.

Most nights I would quietly soliloquies a summary of the entire day. From catching my neighbor making out with her boy friend , to the stolen pants that were hung outside by Aunt Lolo which got stolen by an underwear thief, and finally to the paupers on the streets.

Unlike most kids who only knew how to play in the mud and build sand castles, I was introverted. I thought a lot. I thought about candles with silver threads and how they burnt out so quickly. I thought about the frailty of life.

I always wondered why people eat rice and stew garnished with chicken on sundays (plus mineral). I used to ponder on what historical event had to take place before meat on a nicely dished meal could ever have been regarded as a trophy or some heroic monument. Why has it always been the last thing to chew on the plate?

Did we ever suffer a meat civil war, a meat drought, a meat flood or were we colonized with meat? The answer, I'd never know. For me, meat has been both a blessing and a curse. I say curse because I've lost tooth battles to chicken and goat meat. Countless numbers of teeth flushed out my cavity by the dentist.

I never saw Dr Musa, my Fathers Dentist, as a friend, his mini goggles usually slating down his pointed nose just below his tiny eyes always gave me cause to worry. I feared that he couldn't see well, often times his pupils looked dilated. Every dental meeting I'd ask Dr Musa-

"Sir, why do your pupils look smaller than the last time I saw them,"

And most times this was his response-

"The better to see you with, my dear".

Dr Musa gave me the creeps. The way he wore his head torch whenever he wanted to wade through my mouth for holes and fractures, made me feel like some prehistoric artifact, like I was a newly discovered fossil dug up in the far far ends of the middle East(without the uprising offcourse).

After the military handed over to the civilian regime, I never saw Dr Musa Again, I heard he no longer worked in the Barracks hospital, that he had gotten a better offer in the States Clinic. I was happy I never had to visit his office again.
But now there was Aunt Tehiri, her muscular hands gave me more cause to worry as father had taken me to see her for malaria fever injection.

"What's your name?" She spoke in a tone close to baritone.

Shaking, I said " eh! Michael Ma!"

"Turn your gyansh" she said

By that time my father was outside the ward as he knew I'd scream.

"Please ma, give me on my hand, please aunty!"

"You can't beg me o, oya turn" she emphasized

By this time only Jesus, I figured could save me, so I turned and hardened my gyansh like a rock.

"Daddiiiiiiiiiiiooooooooooo" I screamed.

Aunty Tehiris' veins looked like she had been pushing to conceive a child. It was like bouncing a nail on a rock.

I never fell ill again, not for 4years atleast. I ate my vegetables, drank my oranges and stayed further away from mosquitoes. I didn't take "sheltoxing" my room likely any longer. Thank God they banned chloroquin.

When you were born
Your mother said your eyes squeaked like brand new sneakers
She said your hair was a raven black Shining like crystal stones in the sky
Everyone came to wish her well

As they held your puppy fingers
Your smile melted away their worries
When you cried the nurses curdled you in cuteness
Your voice echoed with tiny undulations
With Sweet slender bonds washing away years of erosion and strife

As the shades of epoch hurriedly passed
You took your first steps on the staircase of mortality
Your chubby thighs wore lumpy clouds
And your first steps were as thunder and lightening

Winged creatures in human form
Sang songs of elation with the flutes and violins
A blessing was given to earth as gift
As rain after years of drought
As light after years of obscure darkness
That blessing was you

But as time changed
And the ground grew older with cracks
Your eyes turned bloodshot red
Your hands rocky and thick as cow skin
Your lips squared in a small triangle
Never oval
Your chest pumped but not with a heart
Just a balloon with straws and a bitter juice passing through

Your humanity lost its dreamer, its soul
You became ordinary
Less than ordinary
Just a window with a burglary
Your mothers voice screamed from the pit of her death
Her voice ragged and hurt
Hurt from the blood in your hands

"My child, the first fruit of my youth
O how time has changed you"
She said

Her broken cry fizzled in the distant tunnel under the ground
In the star like rays through the leaves in her womb
You were not the son she conceived anymore
That child was a gentle leaf in the stream
Growing green and luscious
Never thirsty for black wistful currant

You!
You were not the child she conceived
Atleast, not anymore

By Michael Ogah
An unsung retribution to the killers of those students in portharcourt

I want to taste your voice note like a dabino after ramadan
Spread the pages of your sms like a pancake on a plate and debate its fate

Believe me, I could taste your breath like a smile on the aisle of a wedding planner
And whenever I hear my phone ring, I hear chipmunks sing

I know it sounds unbelievable
But its the only time I could tell for a fact
That even birds... Actually get jealous whenever you talk

You make the butterflies insecure
And even parrots speak in Swahili
Believe me, I've heard crickets whisper
Your number 0803

And maybe its cause like lightening you travel faster than light
Your hands long like network cables playing jangilova on a kite

I want to re-write you into the pages of clarity
Underline your verse in theology
That history would be incomplete without you

You make blue turn green
And maybe that's why the sky is white today like a canvass

So paint it,
Paint it in the emerald oliveness of your loveliness

I'm not a poet but I could write you a thousand sonnets
A thousand hymns of the amazing grace of your pretty face

About how wonderful you've been to me
About how triangles turn to circles and split in half because you make even triangles laugh

Your smile is a banana moon dangling in the sky
Whenever you touch me!
My heart races so fast like a shooting star it could catch a speeding ticket

Believe it, I've tried
I need you to survive
I need you like a 5year old needs a Sneekers Bar
Like a rabbit needs its carrot
And like Dangote needs Indomie

If I were a number
I'd be 2,4,6 and 8
So that even though I were divided by two
I'd still have you,no debate
I'd be an even number
Struck out at an instant but glued to the number of two with you

You make mathematics so stressed out that it draws in histograms
Your beauty is a Fine - Art
A flashlight in the dark like a stop sign
Like green on a traffic machine

Before I blow my brains out
Somebody call the paramedics
..............
I think I'm in love with the atm.

I Can Do All Things.
October 29, 2012 at 11:48pm

It took me a while to properly learn to tie my shoe lace. I couldn't believe that at age 8, here was I, struggling to fit the pieces of this part of me together. At the time it seemed I could do nothing right. My younger brother often helped me out with that. I couldn't understand why I wanted to be like everyone else except for me.

So, when I finally learned to tie my shoe laces, the next challenge was the clock. I hated everything and anything that had to do with numbers, as a matter of fact, I struggled so hard with learning that when I was in primary four my uncle removed the sitting room clock and placed in my hands, he asked me to stare into the clock and tell him how many minutes to two it was, I couldn't. I remember him nudging his forehead and going -

"Young man, use your head, your head, don't you have a brain!"

One day, I sat in front of the clock, I watched the long hand of the clock swerve slightly above the number eleven as the short hand stood still on two. I didn't know how to count in minutes or seconds, what did this all mean?

Sometimes, I listened so hard to everyone that I lost track and couldn't find the fun in just being a kid. Learning was so depressing and made me cave into myself for fear of shame.

One, two, three no! One - two - three - four - five - 5, one - two - three - four - five - 10 and I counted on and on till I got to 55 and added a minute more to make it 2:56. I ran to call Uncle Joe dragging him to the parlor to come see my solution but he wouldn't come, he was too busy trying to win the lottery on tv, so I lingered on in uncertainty, wondering if this 8year old would ever be able to tell the time.

I remember Uncle Joe saying, " left is TO and Right is AFTER" till today I apply that solution to the clock.

In school, I was always afraid. I always told my friends I'd marry a doctor or a person in sciences to help me manage our finances properly. When I was in SS3, my late uncle Ochai, who was our Maths teacher asked me to solve an equation. I sat on my seat, shaking and whispering at him to please not call me, but he did. He knew I feared maths, I didn't hate it, I just was afraid of it, I had never been afraid of anything more in my life like I did maths. As I stroke the board with the chalk, dabbling my fingers like a 3rd grader counting crayons I felt even more embarrassed, I tried so hard to make sure no one noticed how hard it was for me.

When I was done, I stared at my teacher and swiped the board as my mates laughed.

"Why did you clean it!" He screamed.

"Write it again" he ordered.

I would never forget Mr Ochai, my uncle and teacher. He taught me bravery, he taught me that sometimes its better to risk and learn from your mistakes than never to have tried at all.

He dabbled his chalk a few minutes against the board and when he was done, we both arrived at the same answer.

"Clap for him" he said.

"Why were you afraid, didn't you finally get it?" He laughed.

" Sir, I just wasn't sure"

"Anytime you don't understand anything, just come, I'd teach you".

" Ok sir, thank you".

I learnt a lot growing up, I learnt that we are not our disability. I grew up thinking everyone was perfect except me. Caught up in the smoke of my trials I was unable to connect with people like me.

Now that I'm older, I realise we all have struggles, things we're not proud of or are ashamed to speak about ourselves, our weaknesses. Did you know that Steven Spielberg one of the greatest movie gurus of all time is dyslexic? So whenever you think about beating yourself up over your shortcomings, remember that Leonardo da Vinci, Tommy hilfiger, George Washington, Richard Branson, Henry Ford etc all had learning disabilities. So go out there and make the world your oyster, YOU could be anything you wanna be, YOU are smart, don't let anyone put you down.


Written by
Michael Ogah

I think the source of a lot of young people's depression and confusion(our generations, those born in the late 80s, early 90s) is growing up with too much TV influence, and later, internet. I really think it has led to this blaze - "detached from reality attitude" about life. You watch TV and get the impression that you only matter if you do something so crazy, flashy and outrageous that everybody will stop to look at you, which is crap.

We have no real values anymore. Family and romance have gone out the window, to be replaced by "cooler" goals, like sleeping with as many as you can and trying every drug and fast motorbike out there until you break your head. You get told that's what "living" really is.

BS - I know getting things the easy way will bring me more pleasure, but sweating for every little thing you have is the only way you can get SATISFACTION and VALUE.

When I first thought to write something today, I hurried back and forth, erasing every line and filling the spaces in- between with new letters. I thought to write about you, to write something modest, something everyone could relate with, something pure and selfless.

So, I began to think. I thought about my friend Grateful Itiowe, about her strength and courage and how I wanted God to bless me with a heart as pure and selfless as hers. I thought about how she had lost her sister and mum this year to a tragic accident and still filled the bowels of her sanctuary with charity( Some people would be bitter at the world, but not she).

Then I thought about Onyeka Nwelue, how someone could have so much of a God in them and yet be an atheist. His giving spirit, never wanting to hurt anyone and helping when he can, these are the fruits of the spirit my Bible tells me about.

As I thought further, I thought about people who had changed my life from a distance, with the things they said and the words they spread. I thought about
Felix Abrahams Obi and his Mallam Pelliks diaries, about his journey through life and the lessons learnt. I wished for more open doors for him while in Nottingham.

Then, I thought about someone who's always been there for me, through the rough and good times , Loshea Kabod. I believe she was God sent.

Soon, even my ink began to blurt out in blatant fury, saying - "What about Me! What about Me!"

And then, it occurred to me, to also give thanks for hands that write, legs that walk and eyes that are able to see through the smoke of life, into the beautiful colors that paint the sky each new day with blue, red and white.

I realized that at so many points in my life, even for a second, these people unconsciously had changed my life for the better and they'd probably never know why.

At the moment, I'm teaching my newly adopted sister how to speak and write in English( she's from the village).

Teaching her has been hectic and I've had to apply a lot of tolerance as I once was a slow learner and I do not want to apply the same brutal method of learning I had to go through, growing up.

I've learnt to be as enthusiastic and happy for others as I would want for myself like Patrick Ogah, to go after the things I so desire in life like John Ogah and to embrace the world with good and thoughtful deeds like Dike Chukwumerije. I'm learning a lot in my two decades plus on earth.

But what I've had to learn the most this, is to believe more in myself and only until then, can people believe in me. I learnt that through out life, 25percent of the people you meet won't like you, another 25percent would fall in love with you and the final 25percent would finally be compelled to love you after getting up close and personal with you.

I learnt you can't please everybody, so just be happy. Thanks EVERYBODY for ur blessings and strength. One love ma people!



Mike Ogah

The ban of "Okada's" in Lagos, has made life somewhat unbearable for the average citizen. Transportation cost is at its highest, Keke Napeps are barely even enough to mitigate the harshness and it just seems like everybody is out to exploit everybody.

I don't really get why restaurants are pricey, charging nearly 1500 for a meal (that includes fried chicken with salad and a coke). I particularly was surprised when TFC(Tasty Fried Chicken) offered me the same meal for 690 or there about.

Clothes are cheaper in Lag, its easier to start a pure water business there ( due to traffic), other than that, I don't see why people think Abuja is more expensive.

I came to see the Fashola that people have been praising and I realized his second term in office has been more of autocratic than democratic. No street lights, it seems when ur talking about Lagos you're only referring to V.I, Lekki, Ikoyi, Ikeja and dts it! Ok, maybe a few other places. Still, it appears the gap is widening between the poor and the rich(no middle class).

And why don't we have shelter homes in this country ( I'm not talking about motherless babies home), I'm talking about places where people go to pass the night if they've got no where to go at dusk, you know, like the one in In Pursuit of Happiness, Good Deeds etc.

Why don't we love ourselves in this country! Why should a states man drive pass a woman who's got elephantities(dts how I hear it called) begging on the street with crutches and not feel the need to do something about it. The rich would rather scuffle 500naira notes to the poor than teach them how to fish.

Its such a pathetic people we all have become, we need to start refining our minds and stop trying to run away to where we would were big jackets and say "Omoh! see snow". I'm not saying its bad to travel, but atleast bare in mind when ur well settled that people need help here too and do something about it.

All these our graduates, musicians, are busy buying big houses and talking flashy instead of remembering how they came from nothing to something and giving back to society. We're not compassionate people it appears.

HOW CAN I CHANGE THE WORLD? When we start thinking like dt, I believe we'd work to get the money to aide us change the world and not thinking " I WANT TO MAKE MONEY! One is selfless and the other is selfish.

Mike Ogah
Don't hate me, was just pissed for a while.

Seven months into my wife's pregnancy, I began feeling "the pressure". She'd spend hours upon hours in the bathroom not doing "jack". I always wondered why it took her so long to shower.

But, my innermost discretions came to a screeching halt when I forcefully opened the door one day, only to find her inhaling the shitty stench of the toilets urine. Her Protruding belly holding firmly forward like a basketball while she sat on the toilet seat. I feared my baby would be born with body odor

To add insult to injury, the doctor asked me to make love to her every night, for the next two months prior to her conception. He said it would aide for an easy and smooth delivery of the baby through the vagina. More like adding grease to a rusty padlock.

Every night was war, she'd lye down like a pillow case, letting me do the job all by myself( not to say I'm not capable, but two against one is a majority, as u should understand). I just couldn't simmer down the thought of a baby inside her while we made love. She'd close her eyes and swing her legs, while I sweat and frowned. She couldn't see my face because every time, I made sure the lights were off.

I know it sounds like I'm such a crude and uncaring hubby, but u guys don't understand the shit I had to go through every morning( by morning I'm talking about 2am). She'd wake me up and ask for ice cream, ask for chewing gum. Hell, one time she even asked for kuli kuli. Where was I to get kuli kuli by that time of the night!

Finally, it all became worth the wait. My baby bounced out like a tennis ball, free of stress ( well, just a little stress, and screaming too), And I knew right there and then as I held him in my arms, that I was going to love and cherish my wife forever, for She had brought sunshine into my life.

Mike O.

We all go through moments of self doubt and insecurity, fears, that we might just not be what the world is looking for. We tend to often retreat back into our shells like snails at the slightest criticism. But everybody has an audience, the world is big enough for the stars. Thus, my question i this - Is there really, ever a set time to blossom? If a seed is planted in the ground without ever beign nurtured with water and sunlight, wont it decay?

So. i guess what i'm trying to say is, we should never stop trying. We should do the things that make us happy from the on-set and the gifts of life would be sure to follow. We cant keep waiting for the set time. I'm not saying we should hurry life and loose our sleep over our dreams, cos if its what u really love to do, u'd operate with wisdom and calculation.

What would u do if money were no object, How would u want to live ur life? think about it!

Bristled in by haunting sounds, I sleep walked into your coven with eyes clear as crystals under blue water, I could swear this was real, perhaps even more realistic than a dream.

You took my hand and together we rose from the sea, we walked but ever so slowly out of the water at night. The moon was down like a castle gate. We walked into its black door like spirits, we walked through it. I had been hypnotized by you, not sure if I wrote this from a dream or from sharing the same spirit as you.

"Never seen darkness look this morbid but ever so beautiful" I thought.

Couldn't believe you would go through all this trouble just to make me happy. How could darkness feel something for me, strangely enough, more or less love.

We danced for centuries, laughed like babies round a pyramid circle and my descendants came and went, lived and died like autumn leaves. But oblivious was I to time, for in that place, time was light and dawn never existed.

When I chose to look back, I banged my head so hard on the floor that i bled without pain to remember who I was, But I couldn't remember. Sooner had I thought that something wasn't right. How could we live forever happy, feeling nothing but excitement all the time. Soon I would upset the balance of things. Man wasn't made to live this way. Even happiness is stressful sometimes.

Carved in goblets of fire were the castle's ceiling. Each time I stared up to look, strongly had I felt that something paused from watching me. On doing this, I felt fear for the very first time. And this, my friends, began the darkness of things.

Later than not, I would discover that my body was but a mystery never found, and when my kids buried me, they buried my books, my clothes and my glasses in remembrance of me.

"He wouldn't let me go, this love was forced on me"

My name is Kiara, and I think I'm alive, my body just hasn't been found. And if only I were certain that truly this body existed, maybe I could cross over to the other side.



Written by,Mike Ogah.

On a tiny canoe, paddling both ends of the rack as she stared hard into my eyes. The lake was crystal green. Covered with trees that hung over like shadows above our heads. Our silence was a song.

One step closer to the rocky waterfalls, in her eyes I saw a "de ja vous", a captivating shimmer of ethereal beauty pinched her dotted eyes with hope as she looked up smiling, teeth all white and pearly. Reminiscent in my nature, I recalled the day we both said "I love you". Her eyes felt just like that, looked exactly like that.

Beneath the rocks, pitter pattered by the waterfall. We both giggled and laughed hard. Our faces were as soft shits of musical paper soaked in tear drops. We were happy, and for no reason time felt elusive, almost like this precious moment in history was to be caligraphed on the tumbling turmoil of the wet grey rocks surrounding us.

Then we dove into the water. Her skin was the shade of shiny blue. Her pretty hair the color of tangerine. Her lips warbled bubbles to the surface as i bat lashed her fairness with a graceful squint. If only this moment could last a thousand years.

In the cool of the night, we headed back home. I held her shoes and she held my slippers. Our legs graveled through the leafy forest home as my hands layed above her shoulders and she softly pealed at my fingers with both her hands.

Before sleeping that night, I sat beside the moon. I wished life could be more a fairy tale than this. I wished my ribs were never broken. She left in me - A man incomplete.

To my surprise, I then saw a lonely boy, he sat with a fishing hook on-top the banana moon. He said to me -

"You don't want to be like me - Lonely and alone as the universe above you"

"Stay! She loves you"

Then I said " Lonely Moon, I'm afraid that the colors of her promises would someday fade away"

And then he said to me "How can you love when you're afraid".

After that night, I never saw the darkness. Just the lonely boy with a fishing hook on-top the banana moon, fishing for stars.




Written by
Michael Ogah
Prose writer

Life and Times of an Eja Nla

Once upon a time, somewhere in the great Niger river, there lived an Eja Nla(a big fish) who was by far the most noble of all the fishes in the river. His side fins glimmered in the morning sun and his tail fins were embroidered with yarns of pure gold. The lady fishes loved him and the guy fishes aspired to be like him. For he was beautiful to behold and for him life was good.

Then one day he heard pride's malevolent voice whisper in his ears; "Why be respected when you can be feared" He thought to himself; "That's true o, no one really takes me seriously around here!"

So the following day, at the fishes' market square, in front of everyone, he made a challenge to the most feared big fish: The shark. Jack the Shark laughed him to scorn when he was told, but was later stunned when he saw the seriousness in Eja Nla's eyes. Shark accepted the challenge. And at dusk that same day, in public view, shark suffered an embarrassing defeat at the hands of an impressive Eja Nla. Everyone was blown away as they hailed their new champion.

There was jubilation in the air when Dolphin eh ehm-ed and everyone kept quiet to hear what the wise one had to say. He dusted his fins as he stepped forward to speak. "You know i have traveled far and wide" Dolphin said pompously. And he went on to tell Eja Nla that there was yet a greater fish, the great whale, whose domain was the ocean. But to battle him Eja Nla had to do what no fish had ever done-walk on land. Everyone gasped as they heard that.

But Eja Nla laughed arrogantly, thumped his chest and screamed angrily; "I am Eja Nla, the great fish that won the sun in a stirring contest. Yes! I am Eja Nla, the warrior that terrifies even death itself!"

To the amazement of all watching, Eja Nla embarked on his journey of a thousand miles-onward to the pacific ocean to battle the great whale. Smoke came out of his nostrils as he walked out of the Niger river. Fishermen fainted at the sight of Eja Nla. Even the women ran into their huts as he strode brazenly.

It has been a fortnight since Eja Nla went to battle the great whale, but no one has heard from him since then.

“The proud person always wants to do the right thing, the great thing. But because he wants to do it in his own strength, he is fighting not with man, but with God.”
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. For pride goes before a fall and arrogance before devastation.

Stay Inspired!


Emmanuel Deyvid...(Surname too long)

I walked through the wilderness of life, watching as seasons come and go. My heart I held firmly in my hand for fear of it being snatched away. I beheld the sun in its glory and the moon dancing in the cloudless skies. Well, it was cloudy once, and we all thought it was gonna rain meat spheres.

How wrong we were. The only meatballs it rained were pieces of Kilishi that did not even go round. Why am I even letting my imagination run wild. I'm supposed to be writing something here.

I all started when the earth was young and men still carried their destiny around like an expensive pot. Well, men were not in charge, it was the women that held powers in their hands. They did to men what they deemed fit and they hardly fought war. The land was peaceful and everyone held to his belonging like she was guiding it for her neighbor.

If you find a slave (men) that proved to be good in bed, you announce it and everyone comes to celebrate with you. That way you are sure of having strong female warriors that could protect the land. Well, not protect in its denotative meaning since there was no battle to be fought and everyone shared properties.

Love was something that felt odd. You can't fall in love with your fellow woman and men were slaves. Creatures that were only good in cooking, farming, breaking of firewood and looking after the female children in the land. The male that were begat by the women were casted into an orphanage runned by a very powerful heartless old woman. Most of the slaves had undergone the process of moulding from her.

One night, just that night when the earth was supposed to be asleep cradled in the arms of the milky galaxy an evil was birthed into the world... Well to the women it was evil but to the men he was the long awaited savior, the one to free them from the grasp of the ruthless women.

Adam was born and casted into the orphanage like every male slave born. From there his destiny began, a destiny that went a long way to name him the first man not because he had a dangling object between his legs but because he liberated men from the clutch of women.


In the beginning...


By Me... Foxybone

My three year old sister is begging me for the meat in my rice and stew, and she goes -

"Brother Michael, are you my friend?"

And replying I go "yes nau, for life sef"

Then she goes, pointing "That one, ehn! Gimme. You're my friend you hear?"

"But Ene you've eaten nau" I reply boning.

And she goes "Do you love Jesus? Ehn ansa me brother Michael! Do you love Jesus?" She taps me consecutively then puts her hand out like this time she wasn't begging but giving an order.

Without grumbling or even the slightest snare, I quickly dip the fork on the meat and place in her mouth as she churns the big mold and her tiny bubbly chins churn down the meat like she were regurgitating it. Then she goes - "why are you looking at me like that? I'm not your friend again".

See me see wahala, after eating my meat, we're no more friends. Nawa o! Someone help me tell her, she can't eat her cake and have it. Lol.

"Na who be zat?"

I heard the voice of Haruna. I wondered what he was saying until I lifted my head from the food I was eating with Flow and discovered that Uduak was no where to be found. I knew something was up but decided to keep quiet.

"I say who get that small head."

Now my suspicion was confirmed. Uduak who had mumbled a little before standing up was the only person having small head in the house. While my head is like bicycle seat, Flow's head looked like bazuka while Haruna had head shaped into opioro mango.

"Na Uduak dey disturb Haruna flexing so?"

Flow asked.

"I resemble George Weah? How I wan carry know?"

I asked him back.

"You no dey here when Haruna dey ask who dey peep?"

He asked again.

"Na where you come go?"

I asked him back.

"No be wetin make me dey ask you?"

He asked yet another question.

"When you deaf na?"

I asked him back.

"Ooo... Where that boy?"

He asked yet again.

"I resemble George Weah?"

I asked him. And like saying on your marks, get set, gooo. We both stood up and tiptoed in the direction that Uduak had followed. It lead to the back yard. Now Uduak was peeping through the window his hand on his diicckk oblivious of our presence. I looked at Flow who stared back at me.

"Na wetin we go do?"

Flow whispered.

"Make we surprise am?"

I asked.

"How we wan take surprise am?"

Flow asked.

"No be to go round come jump for im body together?"

I whispered back.

"You forget say we be ogas for this house?"

Flow asked.

"How e come take affect this matter?"

I asked. He just nodded and walked away. Moment later I saw him tiptoeing towards Uduak from the other side while I followed suit. Together we screamed...

"Ah think we don catch now ba?"

Uduak was surprised, not knowing who to face, he faced Flow.

"Yeehhhh... Attai... This boy don pour me sperm for bodyyy oooooo"

Flow shouted.


TO BE CONTINUED.....